Damion

by Lisa Renee Jones

  “My kind,” he said. “You keep saying ‘my kind,’ not the Renegades. Why?”

  “You’re all monsters to me,” she said quickly, not about to let him corner her.

  “And yet you didn’t kill me when you had the chance,” he said, his expression calculating.

  “I might need you,” she said honestly, not allowing herself to think of any reason that might be true, beside the need to control the hum in her head that was growing louder. His touch could make it go away.

  His gaze darkened. “I thought you didn’t want my protection.”

  “Who said anything about protection?”

  He leaned in, his lips close to hers, his breath warm on her cheek, his body aligned with hers, but not touching, the air thick with sexual tension. “Then what, little Lara, would you need me for?”

  Despite the hard bite of this man being a Renegade, every inch of her body screamed with awareness, with the need to touch him, and not just because of the hum in her head. She reached out and pressed her hand to his chest, testing her body’s reaction, relieved by the instant silence in her head, the relief when all that was left was hot fire and need. “I think we both know what I need you for,” she said, her voice raspy, affected, despite her efforts to be calculating, to try and get him to admit some sort of mental and physical manipulation.

  The air spiked with electricity, heat, and mutual desire, before he turned his gaze upward and made a sound of frustration. His jaw set, his mood shifted, and his hand slid to hers, holding it over his chest.

  “Do you watch the arena fights, Lara?” He surprised her by asking, his tone soft and lethal. “Do you sit and cheer when men and GTECHs alike, who have proven to be Adam’s enemies, are ripped to shreds by his pet wolves until their bodies are beyond repair?”

  “What?” she gasped. “No. Of course not.” She’d heard of the coliseum, and it made her skin crawl.

  “Sabrina took one of my men, Lara, someone who is like a brother to me,” he said. “If you weren’t here, if you were back in Zodius City, would you watch, would you cheer, when the wolves attacked him?”

  “No.” She repeated the one word with emphasis. “I am not a part of the arena games. I’ve never been to one, nor do I ever want to go to one.” His hard eyes chilled her to the bone—eyes that were cold as ice, unforgiving, disbelieving, eyes that left her desperate to convince him of the truth. “My team isn’t stationed in Zodius City. I’ve never even been there.” It was an admission she shouldn’t have made. She knew even before his next question.

  “Where then?” he demanded instantly.

  “You know I won’t tell you that.”

  His hands went to her arms. “My man could be at your team’s facility. I need to know where it is, and I need to know now.”

  “They wouldn’t take him there,” she said, and that was the truth. “No one outside the team is allowed inside that facility.”

  Disbelief shadowed his face.

  “I’m telling the truth,” she said.

  He studied her a moment and pushed off the wall, hands on his hips. “So that’s it then. I just sit back and wait for Adam to send us pictures of Chale shredded to pieces by those wolves.”

  Lara’s heart twisted at the anguish in him; unnaturally, in an almost physical way, she felt this man’s pain. He was a Renegade, her enemy, but… “No,” she said quickly. “He won’t be in Zodius City. I’m sure he’s not in Zodius City.”

  He stiffened. “How would you know that if you don’t know where he is?”

  How? How would she know that without exposing Serenity? Lara repeated the question in her mind again. “My team is meant to operate off the radar,” she said. “No one knows we exist. Anything we touch stays with us.”

  The phone on the wall rang again, shrill and loud, but for several seconds he didn’t respond, then with a frustrated sound, he grabbed the receiver and listened. She saw his hand tighten on the phone, his knuckles white, and knew something was terribly wrong. She fought the urge to go to him, to comfort him, to touch him. Renegade, she repeated in her head.

  Murdered. No. That felt wrong clear to her soul. Damion wasn’t her enemy. Seconds ticked by like hours as she battled with herself, forcing herself not to touch him, until he slammed the receiver down again, and without a word, stormed out of the room.

  “What just happened?” Lara called, racing after him. “Damion, please…? What’s happening?”

  She caught up with him at the computer where he punched a few buttons and brought the middle screen to life, showing a view of a man tied to a chair, his face swollen and bloody, his head slumped forward. Sabrina stepped into view and yanked his head back. The bloodied man’s eyes lifted as Sabrina said, “Tell Damion why you brought me here, Chale honey.”

  “Fuck you, bitch,” Chale said. Someone shoved a woman in a maid’s uniform to the floor at Chale’s feet. She was young, twenty-something, tied up, with a gag in her mouth and crying. Sabrina smiled at the camera, but didn’t let go of Chale.

  “I’m going to kill her while you watch,” Sabrina said. “And another one like her every fifteen minutes until you bring me Lara. Oh, and if you’re thinking of calling for backup, don’t. If I get even a whiff of a breeze that makes me think wind-walker, I’ll put a Green Hornet in his head. In fact, he’s a Renegade, and I hate Renegades. I’ll kill him first. I’m going to give you exactly three minutes, not one extra second, and if you’re not up here by then, I pull the trigger.”

  Chapter 9

  Three minutes to decide her future, to decide if Sabrina was here to save her or kill her, and act accordingly. To decide if she even wanted to be saved. She knew the answer. Sabrina was here to kill her and everyone else with her. She couldn’t let that happen.

  The computer screen went black, the reality of those short three minutes in full play now.

  “I’ll go,” Lara said.

  “Forget it,” Damion said. “I’m not handing you over to Sabrina. I said we’d offer you protection, and I meant it. Chale only brought her here to save that woman and any other innocent lives involved. He expects me to work it out from here, and I will.”

  To save innocent lives. The Renegades wanted to save innocent lives, while the leader of Serenity was threatening to take them. None of what was happening computed with what she’d come to believe as reality.

  “Then we’ll work it out together,” she said. “I’m going with you.”

  Damion unlocked a section of the desk and slid open a long drawer filled with an arsenal of guns, knives, and ammo. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said, quickly selecting an array of weapons. “But I’m a loner. Always have been, always will be.”

  She was going with him. He’d find that out when she grabbed a weapon or two from the drawer. “Please tell me that doesn’t mean you aren’t calling for backup?”

  “Every second I spend explaining the situation to someone else is one less bullet I load, and one less second I have to get top side.” He reached for a Glock. She planned on claiming the one next to it as her own.

  “Sabrina won’t be alone,” Lara warned. “And she has no intention of trading me for the others. She’ll shoot us all the minute we reach the surface.”

  “As soon as I get to the surface,” he corrected, shoving the Glock into the back of his pants. She ignored the assertion. “Is there a back exit, a way you can get behind the scene, so you don’t get killed right out of the elevator?”

  “One way in and one way out,” he said, loading yet another Glock. The one she’d wanted. She’d settle for the Beretta a few inches up and to the right in the drawer.

  “Can you call back to the surface?” she asked. “Tell Sabrina I have documents exposing secrets she doesn’t want exposed, and those documents will be automatically delivered to a news station if anything happens to us.”

  His gaze snapped to hers, his eyes now black and hard. “Do you?”

  She shook her head. “All that matters is that Sabrina thinks I do.”<
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  “I’m not wasting time on a bluff with a gun pointed at Chale’s head,” he said, reaching for the end of the drawer to shut it. Lara lunged forward, her hand snaking out for the Beretta, but Damion was too fast for her.

  “You won’t need that,” he said, shackling her wrist. Before she knew his intention, he’d set her in the chair and cuffed her hand to the armrest. “You’re not going anywhere.”

  “Are you crazy?” she demanded, aimlessly tugging at her arm, like it would help. “You can’t do this alone.”

  “You’re injured, you’re hallucinating, and you’re the one they want, which makes you the last person who belongs on that elevator going up.”

  “You can’t go alone,” she repeated. “Sabrina won’t be alone.”

  “You’ll be safe here until I return,” he said, as if she’d said nothing worthy of reply. “We reprogram the entry codes to the elevator every time we use it, so right now, only you and I know the magic numbers. If something happens to me, the phones have a speed dial to Caleb. You can trust him.”

  He wasn’t listening. She had to make him listen. “She’ll kill one of the prisoners to force you into handing over the codes.”

  “I have a plan,” he said, and headed for the door. Then with his back to her, he added, “I always have a plan.”

  “Damion! Damn it,” she said, trying to roll the chair after him. “Macho stupidity will get you killed. You need me.”

  “Alive,” he replied, stepping into the elevator and turning to face her. “I need you alive.” She opened her mouth to scream his name again, to plead with him, but it was too late. The doors shut. He was gone.

  Logically, Lara knew that the only reason Damion was keeping her safe, keeping her alive, was because she had information he needed. This wasn’t personal. He didn’t care about her, yet the idea of him dying because of her—dying, period—twisted her in knots, and it felt darn personal. Illogically, irrationally, the need to ensure Damion survived expanded inside her, screamed with the demand that she act.

  Frantically, Lara turned back to the desk, her gaze catching on the phone. If anything happens to me, the phones have a speed dial to Caleb, he’d said. She didn’t even hesitate, didn’t think twice about the craziness of her need to save a sworn enemy, a Renegade, by asking for help from yet another Renegade.

  She rolled to the desk and grabbed the receiver, punching one of the three numbers on the phone. Almost instantly, a man answered.

  “Is this Caleb? Caleb Rain?”

  “This is Caleb,” he said. “Is Damion okay, Lara?”

  “No!” she declared. “No, he is not okay. He needs backup, and he needs it now. He’s headed top level to the cabin. Sabrina—he says you know her. She’s here, and she’s a GTECH now. She’s holding one of your men and an innocent woman, threatening to kill them if I don’t turn myself over in three minutes… about three minutes ago. Damion cuffed me to a chair and took off. I don’t know how many others are with Sabrina, but she won’t be alone. I can’t help him. You have to help him.”

  He spoke in a muffled voice to someone else in the room and then returned. “Help is on the way, Lara.”

  “I have to go up there,” she said. “I have to help. Where does he keep the key to the cuffs? Tell me, please. I know Sabrina. She’ll kill your man and that woman, and more if necessary, to get Damion to bring her down here to get me. Then she’ll kill us both.”

  There was a moment of silence. “Damion will set you free when he returns.”

  He hung up.

  Lara clutched the phone and let out a frustrated growl. Then she dropped the phone to the table, not even bothering to hang it back up, and started digging through drawers. Nothing, nothing, nothing. That was, until her hand froze on a key chain under a cup. Bingo, five keys, and one was small. A cuff key. She freed herself, grabbed several weapons she’d found digging through the drawers, and headed to the elevator. With a punch of the codes he’d given her earlier, she expected the elevator to open, but it didn’t. Damion still had it at ground level.

  ***

  The Russian was dead, an innocent woman was being terrorized, and his friend was barely hanging on to life. Today was not a good day, and it ended now. Damion rode the elevator to ground level, on edge, ready for war, adrenaline like fire in his veins, ready to risk it all. No risk, no reward—that was the law of the battlefield, the name of the game. That was a soldier’s life, his life, the only one he’d known since those early days out of college.

  The elevator hit ground level, bringing him back to the battle ahead, and he shoved aside all thought—slid into soldier mode. Flattening against the wall, he waited. The doors opened, and Damion hit the button to lock it open, and then threw a smoke bomb into the room outside the car.

  Shouts, both male and female, sounded. A rush of movement followed. One voice… two… both familiar. He knew Sabrina, expected her, but who the hell did the male voice belong to?

  “It’s Damion,” came Sabrina’s sharp warning to whoever was with her, followed by a spurt of male and female coughs, the effect of the smoke’s sinister burn. Damion felt it inflame his eyes and nose, felt the rawness of his throat, all the more motivation to get this done now rather than later.

  Chale muttered something he couldn’t make out, but it sounded like a taunt, and just hearing his voice, knowing he was still alive and fighting back despite the magnitude of his injuries, spurred Damion into action.

  He hit the ground and began to crawl toward the area where he estimated he would find the captive female. The smoke was already thick, a wall of gray and black. He couldn’t see his own hands, let alone his enemy’s location, but then, they couldn’t see him either. It would, however, be a real bitch to crawl right into his enemy’s path, but whatever happened… happened. He’d deal.

  “Move Lucian,” a woman’s voice rasped softly. “Move now.”

  Lucian. The only Lucian that Damion knew was a GTECH who’d betrayed everyone he’d ever come in contact with.

  “There’s two of them, Damion!” Chale shouted.

  “Kill Chale!” the male voice yelled, from what sounded like the front door. Shit! That was Lucian all right. What the hell was he doing here? And what the hell was Lara involved with?

  Damion hunched into a squatting position, ready to launch himself into action to save Chale, when he heard a female grunt and a moan of pain.

  “I got the bitch!” Chale said. “Save the girl.”

  Relief washed over Damion, and he almost smiled as he realized Chale had just put his free assets, his booted feet and long legs, to good use. But it was relief blasted away with the sound of a gun firing.

  “Chale!” Damion yelled, his heart jackknifing, certain Chale’s attempts to fight back had gotten him killed.

  “I said I got the bitch!” Chale shouted back, followed by the sound of something scraping the floor. A second later a gun hit Damion’s hand.

  This time Damion did smile as he snatched up the weapon and shoved it awkwardly into his rear waistband with the Glock that was already there. Still squatting, he followed the sounds of the whimpering female until he was at her side.

  “Shhh,” he whispered, leaning in close to her ear, placing a hand on her back and leaving it there a moment, to allow her to get used to his touch, before he scooped her up and charged through the smoke-filled room, toward what were thankfully still the open elevator doors.

  Once he had her inside the compartment, he set her on the floor—leaving her gagged to prevent a telltale scream, while he keyed the security code. Holding the car open with his booted foot, he cut the ties on her arms and legs. “When you get to the next level, get out, and send it back to me.” He moved out of the doorway, let the steel panels seal shut, and stepped right into a gust of wind so powerful he swayed.

  The wind funneled out the front door as if sucked from a pipe, the room clearing almost instantly. Michael stood in the cabin’s entrance, his long black hair rushing around his shoulders.
His unique GTECH skill allowed him to control and communicate with the wind. Michael wouldn’t know to be here if someone—Lara—hadn’t told him there was trouble. Lucian and Sabrina were nowhere in sight. Too bad they’d been smart enough to get the hell out of Dodge. Damion had been looking forward to killing them both.

  Even more so when he realized Chale wasn’t moving, nor was his loud mouth spewing smart-ass attitude. Still tied to the chair, he lay on his back, blood spilling to the floor from his gut, darkening the bandages that had been used to help keep him alive until they didn’t need him anymore—like now. Damion’s and Michael’s eyes met from across the room, all their differences cast aside in a rare moment of understanding, in what, at its core, was brotherhood. Neither wanted to know Chale was dead.

  “How about… untying me?” Chale grumbled, with a squirm of discomfort that had him hissing in pain.

  Michael and Damion both smiled, and in unison wind-walked to Chale’s side. “I’ll take him to Sunrise right away,” Michael said, cutting the restraints around Chale’s arms. “He needs immediate medical attention.”

  “How about not talking about me like I’m already dead,” Chale complained. “I’m not, in case you didn’t notice.” He eyed Damion, sucking in a wheezy breath, before adding, “I kicked that witch’s hot, little ass, even with my hands tied.”

  “How do you still have attitude?” Damion asked, as he and Michael each grabbed one of Chale’s arms and helped him stand up.

  “It’s a gift,” Chale whispered. “One that really pissed Lucian off.” He wheezed. “Ate… that shit… up.”

  A tight ball formed in Damion’s chest. “For once, no jokes.” He didn’t even try to keep the snap out of the order. War was serious, deadly, and joking got you killed. Damion had learned that the hard way, the day his baby brother had died. His brother had been just like Chale, a smart-ass, even as he’d been wheeled toward the ambulance after the car accident. Next time I’m driving, Damion, he’d said. You need training wheels. But there had been no next time. “Lucian would have killed you in the blink of an eye.”